


All My Words Desert Me

by amoama



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:50:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoama/pseuds/amoama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire's locked himself out, again. Enjolras comes to find him. </p><p>Set any time where Grantaire is drunk and Enjolras doesn't really have time for him but makes time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All My Words Desert Me

Grantaire is sat at the top of the grey, stone steps of his own hallway, leant back against the wall. He’s cold and drunk and he’s locked himself out again. His eyes connect briefly with the gamin loitering at the bottom of the stairwell. Gavroche always knows how to appear when there’s money in it for him. Grantaire watches him run off, knowing one of his friends will be along sooner or later to help him out.

It's Enjolras that finds him and sits on the step below him without saying a word. He takes Grantaire’s cheek in his hand, and looks into his eyes. Grantaire has no fucking idea what he could be looking for, perhaps to see how drunk he is? There’s nothing behind his eyes, he’s a blank, he’s been that way for far too long to be anything else by now. 

It’s Grantaire that breaks the contact, knocks his head back against the wall, hard enough to hurt. He closes his eyes and whispers to the darkness, “I’m fed up of this.” 

All he has is his need to be near Enjolras and even that he fucks up, ruins it by wanting it too much, tawdry and desperate. 

Enjolras still has his hand at Grantaire’s jaw. He strokes there and kisses once at the base of his neck. “So let me,” come the words, whispered over his heart. There and then - in a move so unlike Enjolras that Grantaire has to open his eyes and check down to see it’s him, for real - Enjolras pulls down Grantaire’s pants, frees his cock and runs his tongue down the entire drunk-soft length and then takes Grantaire’s cock in his mouth. 

Grantaire stays frozen there in his open hallway that he shares with a building full of recognizable strangers; he looks around urgently as his lungs betray him with a huff of surprise. The sensation shakes him into awareness, a thousand thoughts and feelings and sounds crowd back around him and then focus down to just the slick-slurp of Enjolras’s mouth around his cock. He hardens fast, balls tightening in panic and shock as much as pleasure. His head falls back again, jaw slack, and both his hands land on Enjolras’s head, keeping him where he oh-so-astonishingly has chosen to be. Enjolras has one hand at the base of Grantaire’s cock, keeping his pants out of the way. Enjolras’s mouth comes down to meet it. He uses his left hand to balance him on the step, leaning over Grantaire, fully concentrated on his task, as if nothing else mattered. 

Grantaire can feel the tight workings of Enjolras’s jaw and the incredible suction Enjolras is bringing to bear on Grantaire’s cock. Grantaire’s hips cant upwards, forcing himself further down Enjolras’s throat, he tightens his fingers in Enjolras’s hair and cries out as he comes, spilling into Enjolras’s mouth and over his lips. Lips that are soft and malleable as they come up to fit themselves to Grantaire’s mouth. Grantaire can’t even kiss back, he’s too far gone. 

There’s a clattering down the hall and a “Jesus Christ, Grantaire, you’re disgusting, I’m calling the cops,” from one of his neighbours and then a slam of the door. 

Enjolras smiles at him, nonplussed, “Come on, let’s finish this up inside, I’ve got your key.” 

Grantaire trips up over his own front door and stumbles into his apartment, catching himself on Enjolras’s shoulders -just perfect for Grantaire to nose into the hair at the back of his neck and ask him, “How long can you stay?”

Enjolras swivels in his arms to plant a kiss on his lips and then one on each eye, strange blessing, “Long enough,” he tells Grantaire, but it’s a lie. It’s never long enough.

**Author's Note:**

> er, so the title is from the Evita song, Another Suitcase purely because of its hallway setting. Sorry. Really! Sorry! 
> 
> Theoretically a kink bingo fic except public sex turned out to not be on my card. My bad. Let's call this the Wildcard entry!


End file.
